the people behind the news are vultures. it's common knowledge, really, they all just do themselves the kindness of pretending it isn't. they just pretend they're not all circling, looking for something to sink their teeth into. alex levy considers herself a cut above the rest, truly, and she's sure that she's perfectly justified in thinking so. she's not just another vulture, she's better than that. she's interviewed some of the most famous people on the planet, covered tragedies and triumphs, and america has loved her through it all. it's hard not to let that go to your head . . . and she'll argue that she hasn't until she's blue in the face, the cloy of humility sticking like perfume that's layered on just a little too thick.
when a story brings itself to her, though . . . when she's in here instead of out there, not having to fight among the others for second-rate pickings, it's gotten so easy to convince herself there's a reason she's made it so much further. something beyond being a conventionally attractive woman, anyway. she'd be stupid not to know that's part of it, and she's not stupid. oh, but she's well aware that looks can only take a person so far and she's got that special something. that edge that lifts her above the others so effortlessly ( that's a lie, there's been effort . . . there's been a shit load of effort and she's convinced she's paid for this job time and again with her blood, sweat, and tears ).
“no?” it's easy to blink and look surprised when you're actually taken off-guard, and alex leans in, interest genuine, “what's the real story, then?” it may break the typical format of her show, but it's easier to talk like this, there are no cameras yet, just the two of them . . . and the secret service agents, assistants, and her own daughter all sharing a space that alex has become a master of. she knows just how to make any person feel like they're the only person in the room with her, to put them at ease, and that's the magic that not just anyone can capture.